The Strength in Living
by Charlotte Wright
Summary: Stella isn't feeling quite herself, but with the latest high-profile case, and ever-mounting pressure on Mac to solve it, will she be able to get the help from him that she needs before she hits self-destruct? Rated T for mature themes, and MS in later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey guys! Thanks for taking the time to give my writing a go! A big thanks to Lily Moonlight for helping me with planning and proofreading this story :-)**

A gentle breeze brushed her cheek, in the same way a lover might have touched her when leaning in for a kiss. For now, she had no boyfriend, no lover in which to compare the sensation created by the wind, no one to hold her in their arms. At this realisation, she allowed the feeling of her wine glass pressing against her lips to take her away from the present, the reality and responsibilities of the life she was living, and arrive in a new, wine-induced dimension. It was here that she was not Stella Bonasera and her only responsibility was to stand on this roof, sipping occasionally from her wine glass as she watched the heart of New York City beating below her.

This habit had become hers a few weeks past, and on the nights she wasn't working extra hours at the crime lab, she found herself on the roof of her apartment building. Despite overwhelming fatigue, she had found greater difficulty finding her way into the arms of sleep in recent nights, and even if she did manage to get off to sleep, it wasn't long before she was awake again; with thoughts buzzing around in her mind, or with nightmares consuming her sleep.

She watched the life of the city pulse through the streets. It was too fast for her to analyse the finer details of the blood of the city. But she found something in this new habit of hers. Something which brought her out to her roof every night, with that same glass, filled with the same wine, watching. Different people and faces passing through the streets. Different sounds. Different car horns blaring at different pedestrians who were careless in crossing the street.

Her job was different, but it was always the same. The murderer's motives might be different; people who took another's life – sometimes over love. Sometimes hate. Sometimes it was money, other times; power. There was seldom a case where the victim wasn't killed over something so insignificant, something that could be resolved so easily through civil courts, or therapy, or just… She couldn't explain it, but in the vast majority of cases, murder didn't solve anything.

She knew how it felt to pull the trigger. To watch the life drain out of another human being's eyes. Around a year had passed since her ex-boyfriend had tried to kill her following their break up. He had beaten her. Cut her. Dragged her into the bath tub.

He would have killed her.

So, she panicked and just kept pulling the trigger until she heard his body slump heavily against the ground. One shot would have given her the time to call the police, and gotten herself to safety. One shot would have kept her safe, kept Frankie alive.

But she kept on pulling the trigger.

And so, she knew how it felt to watch the life drain out of his eyes. To know that she had taken another person's life, when her job, as a cop, was to protect the citizens of New York – it felt like she had gone against the oath that came with the badge. Although a year had passed, she still seen the blood spattered onto her bath tub anytime she glanced at her feet during a shower. She was reminded of the pain of razor against skin when she tried to shave her legs. But most importantly, she heard his body slump against the ground when she raised that same gun to a suspect, his pained screams filling her ears when she shut her eyes.

She could only guess that the amount of death she had seen in both her personal and professional life was enough to make her appreciate a city such as New York. With its vibrancy and life, Stella could almost turn a blind eye, or at least, find a distraction from all of the deaths

 _Almost._

Sometimes, she wished she could just oscillate through the city as a civilian, or at least, as someone who was, at least, a little more oblivious to what happened on the very streets she walked. She was grateful for the little things that took her away from the specifics of her work, for example, tomorrow she was meeting with Jennifer, her friend James' daughter, to show her around the ballistics department. Daughter of New York's senator and a 2nd year student at Chelsea University, studying forensic science, Bright, positive, and full of potential, Stella was more than happy to take Jennifer under her wing and give her a head start in the field of forensics. Watching her eyes light up in pure happiness when she looked through a microscope or when she ran a fingerprint through CODIS, Stella was reminded of her own passion for her career at Jennifer's age and something which she was beginning to lack. She couldn't quite place what it was, but after the events of the past year, Jennifer was exactly what Stella needed.

The shrill ringing of her phone broke her away from the sight of the city, bringing her back to reality. The name _Mac Taylor_ flashing across her phone, especially at this hour, meant that she was needed at some crime scene or another.

"Hey, Stella. I'm going to need you at a homicide case, as soon as you can, really."

"Hey. What's the address and I'll get a cab over?"

She heard the line go quiet for a minute before she eventually heard his breath against the receiver, releasing in a sigh. She had known Mac Taylor long enough to know that his sigh could never mean anything good. Usually it meant an early callout or cancelled dinner. It held disappointment or an apology following bad news or a favour too big to ask.

"Stella, it's Senator James Highsmith's apartment."

"Oh my God," she exclaimed. "James… is he okay? Of course he's not."

He paused, as though contemplating his response, "I'll send one of the officers to pick you up. Stell, it's not good."

She hung up, and feeling the weight of the wine glass in her hand, she brought the glass to her lips and tipped the remainder of the alcohol down her throat. Indeed, this was not good.

Arriving at the scene, she immediately looked for Mac's car among the sea of police cars and reporters, and once she was satisfied that he was here, she flashed her badge in an effort to push past the crowd. It couldn't be Veronica who had been murdered, could it? That would explain why there was so much press outside. The CEO of a major charity and the wife of a politician, well, such a death was bound to attract large scale media attention. She was so sure she and James were in Washington D.C for some conference or another for Veronica's charity, so unless they had returned early, it couldn't be Veronica or James.

When she saw Flack standing in the lobby, she had a horrible feeling in her gut that it wasn't Veronica who was going to be leaving the building a body bag. The look he gave her, the look of pity and concern, gave him away. Although she was friends with Veronica, she was only friends with her through James and while she had known the family for at least 3 years now, she didn't know Veronica particularly well. Sure, they had met for drinks a few times, but there were things she wouldn't tell Veronica and she was sure it was applicable vice-versa. She was much closer to James, meeting for lunch when he wasn't busy working, she campaigned with him when time allowed and he had taken care of her after Frankie attacked her, in ways Mac and Don weren't able to. He let her get as drunk as she had to, to get whatever she wanted off of her chest. She cried with him, got angry with him, and it was difficult for him to trust him fully – but he understood that. The only man she completely trusted was Mac, but when she needed him most, he had a habit of running, of distracting himself. Don was a friend, a very good one at that, and recently, he'd had a habit of seeing her at her worst.

Just a year ago, he had spent days on end helping her to piece together the pieces of the night her ex-boyfriend had tried to kill her. He had been kind, and patient, and resultantly became one of the few men which she trusted along with Mac. But Mac wasn't great at dealing with other people's emotions and could be a little clinical in the way he dealt with people; so it wasn't difficult to see why Don had been sent to deliver the bad news.

"Stell, I know it's your night off, but Mac thought you'd want to work this one."

She was granted entrance to the large apartment building by a young officer, and approached Flack, ignoring his previous statement. She didn't care that it was her night off; she was glad Mac had called her.

"What do we know?"

He guided her to the side of the lobby, where the elevator would soon take them to the crime scene. He looked at her sadly.

"Stell, it's Jennifer."

 **So what did you think? Leave a review and feel free to follow the story for future chapters. Chapter 2 should be up in a few days :-)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks to everyone who took the time to review, favourite and follow the story. Now for chapter 2! :-)**

As soon as Mac arrived at the scene, he knew whatever had went down, was going to make this case a nightmare to solve. Sure, it was a pretty textbook homicide. There were signs of a struggle, defence wounds on the victim's arms, a gunshot wound in her chest, and no weapon left at the scene. There was nothing particularly unique about the scene in front of him.

The victim, however, was a different story. Jennifer Highsmith, Stella's prodigy and the daughter of New York's Senator (who also happened to be a good friend of Stella's) was an attractive forensic science student, a political activist and something of an amateur human rights advocate; and so, the motives were endless. This meant, firstly, that Sinclair was going to want Stella off of the case – after all, she'd be too emotionally involved. She'd screw up. She'd put the whole case in jeopardy. He didn't believe that she would, but from the higher up's point of view, she always put herself in danger or on the wrong side of department politics when she was working cases like this, and although that was more Mac's remit, he didn't like seeing her under fire for having a perfectly human reaction to such situations.

Secondly, what with the case involving the homicide of a high-profile politician's daughter, James would likely put the NYPD under a lot of pressure to solve his daughter's murder (and rightly so), which meant, however, that Sinclair would be under a lot of pressure, and thus, Mac and Stella (particularly Mac) would also have their asses handed to them if they couldn't help take some of the weight off of Sinclair by solving this case.

He sighed, trying to push the issues which would be facing him in the coming weeks to the back of his mind. Standing in the bedroom where the young woman lay, he could feel sorrow washing over him in one quick wave. Following it in quick succession was the dread at how his partner would take the news of Jennifer's death. She should have been arriving any minute now, given he had sent one of the rookie officers to pick her up almost half an hour ago, and Flack to wait downstairs for her. Despite knowing Stella for almost 10 years, he was still guaranteed him with little certainty at how she would react to this case.

He allowed his attention to return to Jennifer.

Tall, but somehow, petite, Jennifer had been an attractive young woman. Long, chestnut brown hair splayed at the side of her head, over silk bedsheets (which as he understood, belonged to her mother and father's bed, not her own). Dressed comfortably in dark jeans and a white t-shirt, he could only assume she had been at the library or running errands, and was less likely to have been out – being dressed so casually. Grabbing a swab, he traced it over nail marks forming in her forearms. Hopefully, they would find some DNA which matched someone, anyone, in their databases.

He bagged it, and released a breath he didn't know he had been holding in. The weight on his shoulders hadn't been completely lifted, but the burden had been temporarily lightened.

Just as soon as the weight had been lifted, however, the sound of heels from behind him created a feeling of apprehension, of unease, in his chest. He had heard the sound of those heels long enough to know who wore them.

"Stell," he spoke softly, turning around to look at her. But her eyes focused on the usually vibrant and animated young woman, who lay silent, a victim, on the bed.

Flack, whose hand rested on the bottom of her back, let her move closer to the body, "Stell, you don't have to work this one. I know you guys were close; no one would blame you if you wanted to take a step back. Sinclair's probably going to ask you to, anyway."

He watched her fighting back the tears which threatened to spill onto her cheeks, as she steadied her breath, she looked over to Mac, "She was going to change the world, Mac."

He nodded, "I know. She didn't deserve this. Do you want to help us find the bastard who did this to her?"

Chewing on her lip, she looked at Jennifer once more before nodding.

"What do we know?" She asked, tears clouding over her vision. Mac bagged up the swab he had taken before Stella arrived, waiting for Don to fill her in.

"Okay, so the family's neighbour Paul Kingsley heard yelling at 2.15 am and assumed Jennifer and her boyfriend were arguing again, which they apparently do a lot these days. He tells me that it all went a little quiet for a little, until around 2.30 when he heard gun shots," he reads from his notepad.

Mac nods, indicating he is following Don's notes, "Did he try and check it out?"

"Yeah, the front door was locked, and when he tried to get her to open the door, he got no reply. Says he called 911 immediately after he realised something had went down, but by then it was obviously too late."

"Stella, do you want to try and take some photographs of the scene?" Mac asked, bringing her out of her thoughts and back to the crime scene. Truthfully, he didn't want her to have to work this case, but even Sinclair would have to agree that this wasn't the sort of case he could have second-rate investigators. Stella was the best, and they needed her.

"I can handle the body, Mac," she reminded him without even the slightest hint of emotion, "Remember, I'm a big girl."

Flack glanced over to Mac, who shrugged, "Don, can you go see if you can find some witnesses, please? I'd be interested to hear if the concierge has anything to say about who came in and out of the building around the time of the murder. Also, these buildings have CCTV in the lobby and elevator – if you could get me the footage, I can have Adam run over them back at the lab."

"You got it."

When Mac and Stella were finally alone, he saw her shaking her head at something before taking a picture of the wounds on Jennifer's arm. In yesterday's work clothes, she looked a little dishevelled and run down; but he supposed 3am callouts weren't anyone's best hour. Sure, she dressed smartly for work, but there was something about her which didn't sit well with him. Of course, she just found out that one of her friend's children had been murdered, and anyone with half a heart would be distraught when put in the same situation. He understood that fully. But he couldn't shake the feeling that there was something else.

"I've got a hair," she announced into the quiet of the room. Turning his attention back to her, he nodded.

"Can you get a picture, and I'll bag it?"

She nodded, and after taking some pictures, he worked beside her to remove the hair from Jennifer's t-shirt. Feeling her warm breath on his neck, his breath caught in his throat. He couldn't explain his reaction to her presence, but upon straightening his body back up to his full height, he held the sample in one hand and brushed her free hand with his other. Her tear-filled green eyes locked with his clear blue, and she shot him a look of confusion.

And he couldn't offer her greater clarity. He was going to suffer as a result of this case, almost as much as she was, but more under the pressure of trying to solve it. He felt safer, more certain, under her touch and if he was going to lose himself in this case, he needed the certainty she brought to him. He needed her.

"Taylor. I need a word," Sinclair broke them apart. Mac could see Stella taking photos out of the corner of his eye as he approached Sinclair, and looked at his superior in confusion.

"What is it, Sinclair? Time is of the essence on this one."

"You know what, Taylor? I had a similar message to relay to you. I don't put time limits on solving murder cases, but when Highsmith starts gunning for my badge, I will come after yours. We're giving you a lot of resources for this one, so use them, _both of you_ ," raising his voice slightly at the last part so she could hear him. She barely turned her attention back to her boss, but Mac shook his head slightly.

"Surely you didn't come all the way down here to threaten my job?"

He felt anger spreading across his chest. Knowing how stressful this case was going to be on him hadn't prepared Mac for Sinclair's petty attempt at playing politician. He knew deep down that Sinclair wouldn't fire Stella (he wanted her to take over the lab, he told him), but ever since the Clay Dobson case, he and Inspector Gerard had been looking for a reason to sack him.

"Correct, I've been asked to liaise with the family and make a press statement within the hour. Senator Highsmith and his wife Veronica are due in at JFK… right about now, which means they shouldn't be too long in getting here either."

Stella spoke softly, "Why don't I fill in James and Veronica? It would be easier coming from someone they know."

He and Sinclair turned to the source of the voice, both men seeming to nod. Watching her photograph the victim's hands, Mac felt Sinclair's eyes burning on his. The older man said to him quietly, "Taylor, I'm paying you to do your job, not watch Bonasera do hers."

He shook his head and returned to Stella's side, "Okay, so what have you found?"

There were obvious perks to the job. She got to make the streets of New York City that _little bit_ safer. She got to bring justice to victims and closure to families, and best of all, she got to wear a little look of victory as the suspect was handcuffed and removed from society.

Then, there was the not so great parts, and topping that list was telling families that the person whom they loved, their entire world, was gone.

As Veronica fell into James' arms, she watched a part of her soul die right in front of her. Stella didn't know what to say, she didn't know if there was anything she _could_ say. At this point, anything she wanted to say couldn't have come out as more than a whisper. The lump in her throat held back tears and everything Stella Bonasera would have liked to have said, but with Chief Sinclair standing only a few feet behind her, she was Detective Bonasera and she had to do her job.

"I promise you both, that I will do everything in my power to make sure Jennifer's murderer is brought to justice," she spoke softly, watching James hold his wife up. Veronica looked back to Stella and shook her head.

"What if you don't? Jennifer believed in the system… she believed in, well… you," she spoke through her tears.

"Do you believe in me?"

The question was spoken with sincerity and a hint of curiosity. Despite knowing Veronica for as long as she had, she had never given any indication as to how she felt about Stella and the relationship she had with James and Jennifer.

"Don't take it personally, Stella. But right now, I have no faith in the policing system."

Pulling away from James, she stormed down the hallway and to the stairs, gone as quickly as she had appeared. James turned to Stella apologetically.

"I'm sorry, Stell. It's just… It's not going to be the same without Jen."

She smiled weakly, "You don't need to apologise. I should make you aware that Chief Brigham Sinclair, here, will be your liaison for the duration of the investigation, I'm sure you have each other's cards somewhere."

Chief Sinclair moved to stand beside Stella, "Actually, Detective Bonasera and I will be sharing that responsibility. In the meantime, why don't yourself and Mrs Highsmith get yourselves to a hotel and we can get Detective Bonasera to drop off a few of your things?"

Stella nodded when James sought her approval, "Are you okay with me going through a few of your things to find your clothes?"

He nodded, "Can I have a quick word, Stella?"

"Of course. Chief Sinclair, I'll catch you inside."

Pulling her to the side, she saw every emotion imaginable flashing through his eyes. He was hurting for the loss of his daughter, angry at whoever was driven to take away her life. But there was something else, she just couldn't place.

"Do you have a badge on right now?"

It took her a minute to comprehend what he was asking her, and when he understood, she shook her head, "It's just Stella."

And at that, his walls crumbled around him. Pulling him into her embrace, she felt his body tremble under her as he sobbed into her shoulder, finding comfort in burying his head into her unruly curls. She felt her own tears prick her eyes as he forgot who was watching the pair. He didn't care, and for that matter, neither did she. He had lost his daughter, his world, and he was allowed to feel broken.

"Stella, she's gone. She's not coming back."

Once more, she didn't know what to say. She had always been able to say the right thing in situations like this. But this time, she was stumped. Holding him until his sobs subsided, she pulled back and wiped his tears.

"I'll get this guy personally, even if it's the last thing I'll ever do."

James bit his lip and nodded, knowing she was deadly serious. Not even the threat of death could stop her – especially not now.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

 **Thank you guys for bearing with this. It's been a busy week and such, but I've uploaded this with very little proofreading. Leave me and review if you enjoyed it or if you didn't :-)**

A few hours had passed since she and Mac left the crime scene, and going straight to his office, he pulled out the whiteboard, working through everything that the team knew so far. Stella had tried, where possible, to help him establish a rough picture of where Jennifer went, the people she spoke to, and whether or not any of her friends or classmates would have any reason to want her dead. A better question became apparent; who wouldn't want her dead?

Young, beautiful and incredibly quick-witted, Stella had never been surprised when Jennifer had told her of all the guys from university who had asked her out on dates since she had joined last year. Dark hair, and fair in complexion, Jennifer went beyond the definition of just a 'pretty girl'. She dressed modestly for her build, which, of course, made her stand out from the other girls.

 _"_ _Stella, girls are actually jealous of me!"_

 _She had chuckled at the younger girl's naivety, "Jen, that's because at that age, girl's hormones dictate that having guys chasing after them is a sure sign that they have met the criteria that says they've made it."_

But Jennifer couldn't care less. She believed that if she was going to meet the right person, she would. Her work came first, and the drama that came with college… well, it barely even made second place. Coupled with the fact her relationship and arrangements with Stella were no secret, she found it hard to believe that not a single person in her class could be jealous enough of Jennifer's apparent success to kill her.

People had been killed over much less.

Then there was her human rights work. Immigration, gun laws and chemical warfare were but a few of the causes she had campaigned for. Far from idealistic, she was intelligent enough to see that every human being was the same, that guns do more harm than good. Despite the city's political stances aligning very concretely with her father's, she had no doubt that Jennifer had managed to piss off some hard-core Conservative out there.

And so, the two overwhelming motives had become jealousy and politics, and she hoped for the sake of James that the motive was jealousy.

Tomorrow however, they planned to send someone to speak to the students on the Chelsea University Campus and confirm that Stella's suspicions had been correct – that the girls in her class weren't particularly fond of her. She wasn't sure how those interviews would go – but Danny and Flack were handling those, so they weren't her personal priority at the moment. On top of dealing with Sinclair, Mac tasked himself with going through the security footage from the apartment building, speaking to James and Veronica's security detail to see what they knew and going with Stella to see Sid once James and Veronica had finished viewing the body.

Which left Stella and Danny to deal with the DNA and trace evidence for now.

Stella, taking the DNA evidence, was running a set of prints she had found on the front door handle when she felt his eyes on her.

"Can I help you, Messer?" she teased lightly, however, strain evident in her voice. He didn't return her light-hearted attitude, and put his work down.

"Stel, anyone else would have been taken off of the case if they were as involved as you," he begun. "How you doin'? Really."

Biting her lip, she let out a breath she didn't know she had been holding, "I don't think that it's sunk in yet, Danny. But at least if I'm on the case then I know every possible resource is being used to find this bastard. What's the alternative? Working that drugs case with Lindsay? Working my way through a pile of cold cases when a young woman is dead?"

Nodding in agreement, Danny brought his eyes back to the trace. She saw him pause for a minute before running a swab over Jennifer's jeans where trace amounts of white powder seemed to stick to the fabric.

"What do you think that powder could be?"

He shrugged, "It tested negative for narcotics when Mac tested it at the scene. So, I don't know – could be flour, some form of cosmetics, maybe? I'm just about to test it, so we'll know for sure when the results come back."

"Okay, that could be helpful," she pondered. Her own screen beeped with results, and the display caused her to sigh once more.

"The top set of prints returned no matches in AFIS and the others came back to a member of James' security detail. Which, I can flag up to Mac- "

"But you'd expect them to be there, and it's not enough for a warrant, anyway," he said casually, snipping the end of a swab into a beaker. Creating a solution, he entered it into the substances database.

Leaning against the light table, she rubbed her eyes, stifling a yawn. Having worked the late shift last night and receiving the call out before she could try and get some sleep, Stella found it difficult to stay awake, never mind concentrate on the evidence she was working on. But her tiredness went beyond a lack of sleep. It was fatigue. The type that starts as a weight in your stomach, before, like a slow growing cancer, taking over in your limbs as a burden too heavy to carry. Had her appetite been fully there, she might have eaten something to try and relinquish her exhaustion (if only temporarily). But her stomach barely rumbled as it acknowledged the fact she hadn't eaten since yesterday.

"Okay, so the white powder is a substance consisting mainly of abietic acid. Stel, I have no idea what that is…"

"Violin Rosin," Mac contributed smugly from the door. Danny raised an eyebrow at Mac, before turning to Stella.

"Was Jennifer a Violinist?"

She shook her head, "Her boyfriend is quite musical, if I remember right. I don't know what it is that he plays, though. Paul Moretti, studies at Chelsea, although I don't know what it is that he studies if I'm totally honest."

"Maybe Flack and I can try and pick him up when we go over there tomorrow," Danny suggested, waiting for either of his superiors to approve his proposal. "Didn't Flack say that he and Jennifer were arguing a lot these days?"

Nodding her head in approval, Stella looked to Mac, "You can tell Sinclair we've got a suspect."

Running his hands through his hair, he sighed, "The way he's speaking right now, it's like he expects this case shut as quickly as it was opened. Although, James and Veronica only got back this morning, so I don't imagine them being on the NYPD's asses about this case, although their daughter is the victim, is a priority before they get the chance to start grieving."

But Stella knew James better than that. As a politician, James was used to being persistent and getting on people's nerves in order to get a political upper hand. As a law graduate, he was used to saying exactly what had to be said to put pressure on someone or to persuade people to see his side. But most importantly, as the good father he was, he would fight for Jennifer, because she deserved no less – even if it was the last thing that he would ever do.

But she wouldn't dare say that when Mac was feeling confident in his time frame.

"How busy are you, Stel?"

"I'm just waiting for results, that's all. Why?"

"Because you pulled the late shift last night and seen as you have been working since three this morning; I thought I'd treat you to lunch. That café you like around the corner?" she watched Danny beginning to process Jennifer's belt for fingerprints.

"Danny, you mind waiting on my fingerprint results? Please, I'll owe you?"

And when he looked up with a smile, she pulled off her lab coat and hung it up, following her partner and friend to the elevator.

As her mind became indifferent to the 70s muzak playing through speakers she couldn't see, she consulted the menu in front of her. It was a nice, little café on the next block from the lab. It wasn't particularly pricey, nor was it fancy, but it was _their_ café. Having been their go-to place when they were working long hours at the lab for a few years now, the owners knew and respected the pair, making them welcome whenever they visited. Owned by an Italian family, the café primarily served American diner food – but miles better.

She heard Mac smirk at her before running his fingertips over the table between them.

"What's so funny, Taylor?"

Leaning forward, he smiled, "You're going to order pancakes with maple syrup and a side of chopped strawberries, along with a black coffee, even though it's basically dinnertime and you should be eating something more nutritious, like you always do."

Only taken aback for a second, she quickly retorted, "What? Nutritious like your cheeseburger?"

Although he chuckled, she could feel the strain in his gesture. She had been so caught up in her own grief that she had forgotten to ask Mac if he was okay. He didn't know Jennifer all that well, but had a great working relationship with James. Anything one needed, the other was there, particularly through various budget crises over the year. Even if grief wasn't the issue, Mac was bound to be under pressure from Sinclair. And while his usual defence was to ignore it, he didn't have the luxury of job security right now.

He raised his eyebrow at her, "You're giving me that look."

She sighed, "Are you okay?"

"Stell-"

Gino, the restaurant owner, approached the table with a small notepad in his hand, and a smile on his face. The pair couldn't help but smile back at him – his radiant positivity was infectious. Large in body and presence, one might have feared him if it wasn't for his exuberant personality and his defining friendliness to absolutely everyone.

"What can I get for my two favourite detectives?"

"I'll have a cheeseburger and a cappuccino, please," he said confidently, ignoring Stella's mock eye roll. Then as an after-thought added, "With some fries, too please, Gino."

"Getting adventurous, aren't we, Taylor?" she teased. Suddenly, the thought of trying to get through an entire pancake stack as tired as she was, seemed barbaric.

"What about you, Bonasera?" the Italian asked.

"I'll have a waffle-"

Mac's phone rang, and as he answered it, she finished her order. Turning her attention to her partner, she tuned into his conversation.

"Stella and I are out grabbing some lunch… She hasn't eaten today, I don't want to take responsibility for her passing out on the job… Can't we just… Right, bye."

"Sinclair?"

He sighed, "I am so sorry, Stell. You're going to have to go up to the morgue yourself. Sinclair's organised a meeting with the brass and I need to be there. I'm so sorry."

Smiling weakly, she placed her hand on his, "I'll be okay, Mac. Really. We'll get the food to go."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

 **So, here's Chapter Four. I'm pretty pleased with it, and if you are too, or even if you're not, leave a review. You're also welcome to favourite or follow. Also, thanks to Lily Moonlight for her help with this one.**

As he drove over to Chief Sinclair's office, Mac racked his brain for every possible reason he could be meeting with Chief Sinclair and Deputy Inspector Gerard. The obvious conclusion he came to was that it was something to do with Jennifer's case. But what? Surely, they weren't dragging him all the way across town to remind him that time was of the essence?

Pulling up to a red light, he sipped his lukewarm coffee with a sigh. He looked over to the passenger seat where a brown bag held his cheeseburger, the one he had wanted to sit down and eat with Stella.

Stella, who had _always_ ordered a pancake stack, but today had ordered waffles because she had to prove to him that she was unpredictable. She had still gotten strawberries on the side, because she liked fresh strawberries, and had her usual black coffee, because she couldn't have slept in at least 24 hours. She refused to go home, _of course._ He couldn't have expected anything less.

Pulling him out of his thoughts was the irate roar of a car horn, bringing his attention to the once-red light that was now green. Carrying on along the road, he pulled in to the side in front of a large white building – one which would have otherwise been impressive had he not been here what felt like a hundred times before.

Taking one last sip of his coffee, he grabbed his pager and slid it into his pocket, taking one last look at his cheeseburger before he killed the engine. God only knew what this meeting had in store for him.

"Chief Sinclair," he nodded at his boss as he entered the office. Catching sight of an older, white haired man sitting at the meeting table, he gritted his teeth and tried to steady his breathing. There was no point coming into a meeting with these two feeling angry; they were going to find some way to get on his nerves, anyway.

"Taylor," he observed monotonously. He couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at the older man.

"Inspector Gerard. Last time I saw you, you were gunning for my badge."

Gerard simply nodded, "That was then. This is now. And right now, the Senator of New York's daughter is dead."

And if he wasn't in this office right now, he could be solving her murder. He could be down at the lab; helping Danny get through the evidence, helping Stella through the autopsy, any number of things, really. Anything would be a better use of his time than this. But it was only weeks ago where Gerard had gone after his badge; the reason he got up in the morning. While he couldn't afford to take any of the bait Gerard was throwing him, his actions recently were, at least, a sign of his growing disloyalty towards the younger detective.

So, he sat down, waiting for the point of this meeting to become clear.

Sinclair joined them at the table, "You know how much Senator James Highsmith does for the NYPD. The budget crisis, the recruitment crisis- "

"You make him sound like a knight in shining armour, ready to save the damsel-in-distress that is the NYPD," Mac mumbled. Gerard cleared his throat, leaning towards the younger detective.

"Let me put this to you, in a way you might understand. There's a lot at stake here- "

"You mean beyond the political hand-outs you give each other?" he snapped back. Sinclair watched him carefully, and Mac could have sworn that he had sent him a look of warning, a look that said that said not to argue with Gerard. It was a fight that Mac wasn't going to win.

"You know, Taylor, I let go of what happened with Dobson out of respect for you and your crime lab-,"

"You let go of that, because I did nothing wrong beyond chasing after Dobson with no back up. I didn't kill him, and as soon as IAB confirmed that and you had no one to make an example of-"

Gerard continued through gritted teeth, "But there comes a time when a department needs a fresh outlook, wouldn't you agree? Someone _younger,_ someone _smarter_ – perhaps someone more _level-headed._ Be careful, Taylor. The brass have a replacement in mind, should you mess up, should you fail to solve this case in adequate time – especially given the resources this case was allocated."

He felt his blood boil against his veins. How dare he? How dare he threaten his job? Sinclair had done just that this morning, _only_ that didn't feel personal. This was personal.

"And who might I ask would you like to replace me? The same woman who hasn't slept in at least a day, who hasn't eaten today and who _also_ can't go home until I finish here and get back to the lab? Come on, Stan. Cut the bullshit and tell me why I'm here?"

\- / -

Since returning from lunch with Mac, she had nibbled on the strawberries she had bought for lunch and had poured herself more cups of coffee than she cared to count. She had sighed in defeat at the rest of her lunch, before tipping it into the nearest bin and heading to see Sid in autopsy. As soon as she had put the autopsy report on Mac's desk, she headed back to the AV Lab where Danny was standing chatting to Flack. Forcing the corner of her lips up into a smile, she approached the desk where the two men were standing, interrupting some conversation or another which bore little significance to the case at hand.

"Hey, you two," she greeted lightly. "What are you doing here, Flack?"

He held up a disc, "Mac wanted the surveillance footage from the apartment building. I just got it from the company who own the building, so with any luck, we can work out how the hell the killer got into the building. Where is Mac, anyway? Danny said you two grabbed a bite to eat."

Nodding, she sighed, "Well, we tried to. Sinclair called and asked for him to come in for a meeting with Gerard. I can leave it on his desk, if you want?"

Don handed her the disc before Danny left to grab something from the printer. A cold wave passed through her body, and her hands began tingling. Don watched her body relying on the desk for support, and moved towards her in concern.

"Hey, Stel. You okay?"

She nodded, "Yeah, sorry. Just a little light-headed."

"Stel- "

She shook her head, "Don, I'm fine. What's your next port of call?"

"I'm assigning some extra protection to James and Veronica. We don't know what the motive was yet, and so if it was political, we're really going to need some extra guys on James, in particular. How's he doing?"

"His kid was found dead this morning," Danny answered, returning to their side. "How would you be doin'?"

Nodding, Stella stood up from the desk, "We haven't spoken but I can only assume…"

The sound of the machines in the background seemed to blur as though their wavelengths were being pulled, but became softer, quieter somehow. Replacing these sounds was ringing, which, no matter how hard she shut her eyes, remained. Knowing this wasn't good, she reached for the nearest stationary object she could find –Don's arm.

"Stel? Danny, get Hawkes or Sid… anyone with first aid training, I don't care," she heard, before her body became too weak and her vision went black.

\- / -

"The obvious motive is political," Mac mentioned matter-of-factly, "But we're also considering jealousy and actually, evidence is pointing to the victim's boyfriend."

Sinclair raised his eyebrows, "What would that evidence be?"

Before he could open his mouth, the shrill ringing of his phone broke his line of thought. He looked to Sinclair for approval, ignoring Gerard's eye roll at what he could only assume was a lack of professionalism.

"Go on, it could be important," he replied sincerely.

 _Danny Messer calling…_

"Danny, what is it?"

"Mac, I'm sorry. I know you're in a meeting with the brass, I just… Flack told me to call you," he rushed. Ignoring Sinclair and Gerard, he focused on the urgency of Danny's voice, and he couldn't help but feel something was wrong.

"Danny, slow down. What's happened?"

"It's Stella. She was fine, then next thing we know, she collapsed. Don caught her, but she's been out for a while. I've sent for Hawkes. What do I do?"

He stood up quickly and put his blazer, "Just try and wake her up, and keep it that way. I'll be as quick as I can."

Hanging up, he looked to his bosses, "All I ask is that in future when I ask for _5 minutes,_ five _damn_ minutes for one of my detectives to eat her lunch – you give it to me."

\- / -

"You need to go home, Stel," Hawkes urged, with Danny beside him. Don sat beside her on the floor of the AV Lab rubbing her arm, in a weak attempt to soften the blow that Hawkes was delivering. As expected, she shook her head.

"I'm fine-"

Hawkes held up his hand, "Stella, I have a medical degree; don't try that one on me."

Resting her head on her knees, she sighed in defeat. She felt more exhausted than she had been earlier, and coupled with a feeling of growing embarrassment, she felt awful. She had attracted the attention of many lab techs following her earlier collapse, and their concern, while not intended as such, was not received well by Stella. Under a lot of pressure these past few weeks, and having so much to deal with this past year, she had earned the admiration of, well… everyone. She couldn't let herself be brought down so easily by exhaustion when she had weathered every other storm sent her way with much greater ease.

"Mac should be here any minute," she snapped her head up at Danny's comment. "So, I'll pack up the evidence and go get something to eat. You need anything else, Stel?"

She shook her head, and as Danny moved to get on with her tasks, she saw Mac leave the elevator and rush towards then. Helping her up, Don exchanged a glance with Stella before letting her rest her hand on his arm.

"What happened?" Mac demanded from Hawkes, who barely looked at Stella before explaining briefly.

"She hasn't been looking after herself these past couple of days and her body couldn't handle running on fumes and far too many cups of coffee. She passed out as a result of exhaustion," he told him, before smiling at Stella. "So, I advise you to go home, have a proper meal and get some rest. I'd guess it's been at least a day since your last meal, and longer since your last sleep."

And suddenly, she could feel Mac's eyes scrutinising her. He was a busy man, and the time he had taken today to buy her lunch had really cost him. It was time he could have spent doing paperwork or looking over the evidence in Jennifer's case. But he was happy to look out for her, to treat her – because she deserved it. It took sacrifice on his part; but they were sacrifices he was happy to make because he truly cared for her.

And by throwing the food away, despite her lack of appetite, she threw those sacrifices, and his care, straight back in his face.

"Don, can you take Stella home, please? I don't want to see you back here until tomorrow. Understood?"

"Mac," she protested. "I'm not going home; I still have work to do. Besides, Sinclair and I were hoping to update James and Veronica tomorrow, and I have nothing to update them with-"

He shot her a look, in warning, "Stella, I'm not going to get anything done if I'm worrying about you passing out on the job. Go home and I'll catch up with you in the morning."

Ignoring Sheldon and Don's presence, she opened her mouth to retort. He raised his hand, as though to silence her and turned his attention back to Don, telling him to take her home. A glimmer of disappointment in his eyes stopped her from arguing with him.

She tried to force herself to apologise to him, but the words she wanted to say turned into a painful lump in her throat. Speaking through the lump would have brought tears in its wake, and she couldn't cry. Not in front of Sheldon and Don, but most certainly; not in front of Mac. Simply nodding, she let Don lead her out by the arm.

She knew there was only one thing which would dissipate the shame that she was feeling, one which she knew she would regret in the morning.

 **A/N - Okay, so on Sunday I'm on a flight to the US and I'm pretty optimistic that a) my laptop won't be confiscated and b) I'll find some time to write chapter 5. So hopefully the next chapter will be up sometime next week. Hope you enjoyed it :)**


	5. Chapter 5

Hey! So this is Chapter 5 - which you should know, I'm posting from the USA. I'd like to thank you all for such positive reviews so far, and I hope you enjoy this as much as I'm enjoying writing it. Thanks, and please leave a review and follow for the next chapter, which will probably be up late next week when I'm home!

 **Chapter Five**

Woken up by the ringing of his alarm clock, he pushed himself up from his bed with relative ease and made his way to the kitchen to start on his coffee. The sun, just beginning to rise, pushed its way through the cracks in the curtains and with a new found determination, he pulled them apart. Watching the city starting to waken up with him, he felt his mind wander onto the events of yesterday.

 _"…_ _there comes a time when a department needs a fresh outlook, wouldn't you agree? Someone younger, someone smarter – perhaps someone more level-headed. Be careful, Taylor. The brass have a replacement in mind, should you mess up, should you fail to solve this case in adequate time – especially given the resources this case was allocated."_

He shook his head at the memory of the meeting and made a mental note to try and erase the event from his mind. Although he didn't show it, he was afraid for his job, that job which was his very reason for waking up in the morning. The very thought of Gerard's words brought a fresh wave of anger over him. Anger at Gerard, anger at Sinclair, anger at himself and anger at… Stella? Why on earth was he angry at Stella?

It wasn't her fault that Gerard wanted her to replace him. That wasn't it. He couldn't help but feel angry at her for the fact that she wasn't taking care of herself. She knew this was a difficult time for everyone and of all the times to push her body to its very limit; this wasn't it. It wasn't just Jennifer's case, this had been months in the work. Since she had come back to work following Frankie's attack, she was more passionate; more willing to throw herself into her work. It actually _seemed_ as though she was very positive about the whole situation. Following her HIV scare, something changed. He had found that she had started to stay later than before, no longer criticising his determination to stay into ridiculous hours of the morning – he imagined through fear of appearing hypocritical. He was surprised to hear himself say it; but he missed her constant nagging at him to go home. Then, after she had been identified as a suspect in Garth Bennett's cold case, he had noticed small changes in their relationship. They had started having lunch together less, for she had become more absorbed in her work, and he had started a relationship with the lab's ME, Peyton Driscoll, who, despite her slightly intense nature, was making him very happy. That being said, once this case was over, he was going to have to ensure he made more of an effort with Stella, who was, after all, his best friend.

He had taken her out for lunch yesterday with the intention of catching up with her. He could appreciate that he had abandoned her a little over the past year when she needed him most, and although it was only lunch, he thought it was a start. When she was attacked by her boyfriend, he took her to a hotel. He didn't think she would feel comfortable in his apartment after what Frankie did to her – but he should have known better. Only recently, she had faced a HIV scare, one she couldn't handle on her own but hadn't wanted to trouble him with.

 _"_ _I'm not sure that I'm brave enough to wait for a cure."_

And he hadn't known Stella to ever feel so low. She was known for her infectious positivity and naïve optimism, and whenever he needed her, she was unquestioningly loyal to him. Thus, he couldn't help but kick himself for choosing his relationship with Peyton over helping the woman who had helped him to deal with the lowest points of his life to date. For that, he was angry at no one but himself.

Finally, the coffee was ready, and he could get ready for work. He had to check on Stella, to make sure she was alright from fainting yesterday. Despite his frustrations at her, she was only doing whatever any other dedicated CSI would have done. He knew that in his mind. But when it came to dialling her number, his fingers froze over the buttons as though they had forgotten the combination. Instead, he called Don.

He wasn't ready to face Stella just yet.

\- / -

"So, it's looking like a Glock was used to kill Jennifer," Danny informed him, handing him the file with the stria comparison. "Did you find anything on the surveillance footage?"

Leaning back in his chair, Mac sighed, "Not really. Around 2.10am, a hooded figure is seen entering the security building. The doorman had taken a 15 minute break around 2am and our guy was seen leaving around 2.35. He didn't look at the camera once."

"Didn't you say Flack was going to Chelsea today? Maybe he'll find someone with a little bit of motive. In the mean-time, Veronica Highsmith has given us permission to access Jennifer's phone records and her laptop – she'll bring the laptop over when she's got her meeting with Stella and Sinclair," He paused. "How is Stella? I mean, after yesterday."

He shrugged, "I haven't spoken to her since I sent her home. She's going to Chelsea with Don, to do the interviews. I think they're going to try and find the boyfriend while they're over there."

He could feel Danny's eyes on him before he scoffed and sat on the chair opposite Mac, "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were avoiding her."

When Mac ignored what he assumed was a question, he added, "Where's Peyton, anyway?"

"She's taken a few days off."

He nodded, "Okay, so, d'you know when Stella will be back? I've got a few results I need to show her before she meets with James and Veronica."

"I don't know," he admitted. "Text her, and I'm sure whenever she's back, she'll make a point of coming to see you. What are the results anyway?"

Sid's findings from autopsy weren't particularly telling; defensive wounds, bruises on her arms and face, blood and DNA under her nails – which would be useful, had there been anything to compare it to. After running the respective samples through CODIS, they had come up empty handed. As expected, they hadn't matched the reference samples provided by James and Veronica, who already had solid alibis. His security detail provided reference samples of DNA and prints, which unsurprisingly, didn't match (they had been in Washington with the couple, he was told). Until they could get reference samples from the victim's boyfriend, he was sad to say it but, they were at a dead end.

Still, he was determined that Stella and Flack could put together some kind of suspect list to show James and Veronica. If all else failed, her phone and laptop would surely put together something useable in the investigation. Like himself, Danny was convinced that the evidence was not yet exhausted. He took the view that once they had more puzzle pieces, they might be able to see the picture more clearly. In the meantime, he was going to go back to the drawing board. There had to be something that could point them in some direction or the other.

As time progressed, Mac had erased and rewritten much of the board – attempting to broaden their scope. He had widened the possibility of motives to include; politics, jealousy, robbery and revenge. He knew the list was open to additions as the case progressed, but the evidence was pointing to those most strongly. Forced entry, defensive wounds and the mess which the apartment was in, supported his theory that the attacker was either someone Jennifer didn't want to see, or simply didn't know.

He had taken a break around lunchtime when Flack called, sounding somewhat accomplished. Pouring himself another cup of coffee, he flipped on the TV, all the while listening to Flack on the other end of the call.

"So, Mac," he began. "Stel was right, Jen really wasn't popular with the rest of the lab rats. However, she got along with the medical students pretty well – the boyfriend studies medicine. Speaking of which, my guys have lifted him for a chat. I'm going to do the interview myself and drop Stel off at the lab in time for that meeting."

"What about the students? Did they tell you much?"

"Yeah, we've taken down a few names that may be of interest. We're on our way back right now."

"Okay, thanks Don. I'll see you both when you get here."

"Sure. Hey, Mac? Why is James doing a press statement? It's just come on the radio."

Taking a sip from his coffee, his attention was drawn back to the TV where indeed, James was giving his statement. Dark circles underlined his eyes, and clad in a dark suit, he tried to clear the hoarseness from his throat and began.

"Good afternoon. Much speculation has arisen from the large media presence which has taken place outside my home, and it is with a sad heart I deliver the news of my daughter, Jennifer Highsmith's murder early yesterday morning. I could never express the way my heart would swell with pride in Jennifer's hard work and determination, for her future career and for the betterment of the lives of the people of New York City."

Hawkes appeared at his side, sharing in the same look of confusion as Mac was. Offering a slight shrug, he looked back to the TV. James took a shaky breath before continuing.

"The NYPD have offered great support following Jennifer's death; particularly Chief Brigham Sinclair and Detective Stella Bonasera. My wife and I truly appreciate the work both officers have done for us in the past 24 hours and the work they will continue to do for us throughout the duration of the investigation. But it is with complete honesty I express my anger at the perpetrator of such a senseless killing and, sadly, with the NYPD's lack of progress so far into the investigation. And so, I ask Detectives Taylor and Bonasera, the lead detectives, to work round the clock until my daughter's killer is brought to justice. Because Jennifer deserves the very justice she so believed in."

Ignoring Don's angry outburst over the phone and Sheldon's frustration, he pounded his fist against the table, hoping to God that James Highsmith stayed far enough away from him until his anger subsided. How dare the bastard ask himself and Stella to work harder? They couldn't possibly be working any harder – Stella had passed out yesterday, for crying out loud!

"Don, can you put the call on speaker?"

After a few moments, he heard his partner's voice over the phone, "Mac, what's up?"

Taking a few seconds to control the anger that had brewed once more, he finally spoke, "I need you to come see me before Sinclair."

"Mac, I really don't have time. I have to-"

"Stella, I'm not asking."

"Right," she spoke quietly. "I'll be up in two minutes."

Hanging up, he knew he would regret speaking to her in such a way later, once he had let his mind process what the hell he was going to do. Right now, however, he didn't need her to be arguing with him. He didn't need her to be collapsing on the job. He needed her to take care of herself, to do as he asked her to – and now, he needed her to work twice as hard as she had been.

The ringing of his phone, and multiple others in the room, brought him back to the break room and this time, he forced the frustration he felt towards Stella way out of his mind. Soon after he glanced at the caller ID, he realised that the confidence he had felt earlier was long gone.

 _Stan Gerard calling._

This was not good.


	6. Chapter 6

Hey! I'm now home from the US and I am incredibly jet lagged, and I know that the last chapter wasn't posted long ago, but while it's here, I thought I'd post anyway. I'm really starting to enjoy writing this now that I know where I'm going, and so if you're enjoying reading this as much as I'm enjoying writing it - then it'd mean the world to me if you could leave a review. Also if you follow the story, you'll be able to see when this is updated.

Finally, thanks to Lily Moonlight for kindly reading over this. She's an absolutely fantastic writer who you should also check out - enjoy!

 **Chapter Six**

Stirring against the less than comfortable headrest of the car, she awoke with a start looking around in order to establish her bearings. With tired eyes, she caught sight of a blue-eyed detective who stole the occasional glance in her direction. Sending him a small smile, she settled back into the headrest, watching nothing in particular as the car moved steadily through the traffic.

"Was I out long?" she mumbled through the hoarseness brought to her voice by sleep. Don shook his head.

"Nah, about 15 minutes," he informed her. "I thought you'd passed out again, but then I heard you snoring and I knew that you had finally succumb to one of the basic human needs; sleep."

She couldn't help but let a smile grow. It wasn't a full smile by any means, but it was the closest to it she had come since she had found out that Jennifer had been murdered, and even since the events of the last year. With sadness, she was reminded of the playful banter she and Mac once shared, brought to a temporary stop by the death of his wife, Claire, and now, a seemingly permanent halt by his new relationship with Peyton. Don, although only a friend, had been a particularly good one recently, and his friendship was by no means a replacement for what she yearned for with Mac, but it was, however, a welcome distraction from all that had changed in her life. And today, the sense of longing and sadness was overwhelming. While she didn't know exactly why she felt the way that she did; Don's presence was particularly welcome in light of the events of the past twenty-four hours.

Despite a productive morning at Chelsea, she had felt a sense of deflation for the first time during the case. While the evidence was beginning to build a picture of what happened that night, she couldn't help but feel the waves of sadness and frustration passing over her again. Sure, the interviews had given them plenty to work with, and in fact, they had managed to get a few students down to the precinct for further questioning – including Jennifer's boyfriend, Paul Moretti. However, a part of her had hoped that Jennifer had exaggerated how disliked she was by her fellow classmates. A part of her had hoped that Jennifer was just a self-conscious and paranoid young adult.

She had been wrong.

When Stella had introduced herself to the students, she had earned many subsequent eye rolls. One student in particular, a petite blonde, caught her attention and had been brought in for further questioning. Andrea Alex, daughter of a wall street broker, was most openly derogatory about the young girl.

 _'_ _It's not you, Detective. It's just that Jennifer never shut up about you… Am I sorry she's dead? Not particularly… You might have cared for her, but for me… for all of us – she was a stuck-up bitch.'_

Stella had passed her name onto Flack's guys, asking them to take her into the precinct. Did she think she had killed Jennifer? Probably not. But she had, however, pissed her off, and so she didn't see the harm in letting Andrea sweat it out in an interrogation room for a while.

Don had taken Paul Moretti to one of the officers, asking to interview him personally. While there was quite the case building against the young medical student, Moretti had, according to Flack, been shocked by the news of his girlfriend's death. Asking to be excused, he had shed a few private tears before returning, puffy eyed, and willingly being escorted to the precinct.

Wrapping up, Stella returned to the car with Flack ready to return to the lab. Resting her head against the window, her eyelids, heavy on top of her eyes were nearly closed once more when she felt her phone vibrate in her hand and sighing, she opened the text message.

 _Hey, Stella. Can you come see me when you get back, please? – Danny_

As she started to reply, another text came through, to which she rose her eyebrows in confusion.

 _In the office with Lindsay, your buddy is doing a press conference. Got a radio handy? – Danny_

Turning up the radio, Flack dialled Mac. As he told Mac to tune in, she rubbed her eyes and flicking casually through the case file in her hands, she too tuned in. For a public figure, James had never been confident in public speaking, or rather, in himself. And as he started, she felt this knowledge reinforced as his voice wavered.

 _"_ _Good afternoon. Much speculation has arisen from the large media presence which has taken place outside my home, and it is with a sad heart I deliver the news of my daughter, Jennifer Highsmith's murder early yesterday morning…"_

Looking up from the case file, she could feel a sad smile beginning on her face. Over the past 24 hours, she had been reminded just how beautiful Jennifer was; both inside and out. Modest, kind, intelligent and fiercely loyal; it was anyone's guess why she couldn't win over her class mates hearts. Stubborn, persistent and incredibly driven, Stella couldn't help but feel a stronger identification in every part of the young girl and although she was now dead, she couldn't help but feel love and pride for Jennifer and all the memories she had left behind. A friend, a sister, Stella understood and agreed with the Senator in every aspect he mentioned of his daughter.

Catching Don's eyes once more, she knew in an instant that Don could read exactly what she was thinking. Casting her a weak smile, he brought his attention back to the road in front of him keeping part of his focus on the radio. She couldn't help but allow the corners of her mouth to turn up into a smile at his own smile.

 _"…_ _But it is with complete honesty I express my anger at the perpetrator of such a senseless killing and, sadly, with the NYPD's lack of progress so far into the investigation…"_

What? How could he expect "progress" the day after the murder had taken place? Murders weren't solved as quickly as many were led to believe, and took late nights, early mornings and working through dead ends until the most minute detail was found. James knew that, he had been friends with Stella long enough to know that. What was he playing at?

 _And so, I ask Detectives Taylor and Bonasera, the lead detectives, to work round the clock until my daughter's killer is brought to justice. Because Jennifer deserves the very justice she so believed in."_

"Son of a bitch!" Don swore, pounding his first against the steering wheel as he listened into his earpiece. She assumed Mac was angry, too, no… he would be furious. How could he do this to them? He was supposed to be her friend. She had made herself ill for this case, Mac was taking verbal beatings from the Chief for this case with relatively little complaints, and he had the audacity to say such a thing on _live television_. Gritting her teeth, her mind focused only on one question; How dare he?

As Veronica took over on the microphone, Stella took this time to control her breathing. She was furious. She was anxious. She had no idea what she was going to do. Running her hands through her hair, she watched the cars pass by the window as she took long, shaky breaths. Deputy Inspector Gerard was going to lay into her after he had done the exact same to Mac. And Sinclair – she was finally on better terms with the Chief of Detectives and now… she could only imagine how poor her relationship, Mac's relationship, with the older man was going to be. Oh God, Mac had only just gotten past the worst of the Clay Dobson case, and now he was going to be right back to square one with his bosses.

Turning onto the street of the lab, Don pressed connected the call to the radio before explaining quietly, "Mac wants to talk to you."

Nodding she asked in return, "Mac, what's up?"

"I need you to come see me before Sinclair," he explained, little emotion beneath his voice. She knew him better than that, better than to believe he had his emotions under control. He would either take it out on his locker as shift ended, or on Stella when they were alone, but _never_ did he show his emotions in public. It had been a long time since they had argued in public, and she didn't miss it – god no. But she noticed a side of Mac returning that she frankly didn't care much for the company of. It was a side of him she hadn't seen since Claire died.

She sighed, "Mac, I really don't have time. I have to-"

"Stella, I'm not asking," he snapped. She shifted in her seat, avoiding Don's expression of shock.

"Right," she spoke quietly. "I'll be up in two minutes."

Hanging up, Don pulled to a stop outside the lab. Taking a shaky breath, she grabbed her bag and case file before going to open the door. Don, however, placed a hand on her arm in an attempt to hold her back for a second.

"Hey, Stel," he spoke softly. "Are you two okay?"

Stopping for a moment, she thought carefully about her answer. Until recently, their working relationship had been the same as always. They were close, but professional. They bounced ideas off of one another, they helped one another to deal with their anger and frustrations, as well as celebrating the victories and one another's achievements – no matter how small. Now, they barely went out for lunch, settling instead for coffee in the break room – with the exception of yesterday, where he had made a conscious effort to try to reconnect with her, and she had thrown in back in his face. She was at fault for this seeming loss of connection. She couldn't blame Mac, not even Peyton – this was completely her doing.

She just didn't know why yet.

"Yeah," she said eventually. "It's just a tough case, for both of us."

Nodding, he placed his hand back on the wheel, "Okay, but if you change your answer; you know where I am. Good luck, Stel."

-/-

Walking into the break room, she could feel the tension thick in the air. Danny and Sheldon stood, looking over case notes and Mac, making notes from another file caught sight of her with small frowns. Taking a few steps closer, she motioned to the file in her hands.

"So, we got Moretti and a few other students at Chelsea waiting at the precinct to be interviewed," she spoke, trying to break through the atmosphere. "Flack and Angell have it under control, but I'll meet them afterwards and get their notes from them."

Danny was the first to respond, "Stel, I gotta ask. Any idea why your buddy just threw you and Mac to the wolves?"

Closing the case file in front of him, Mac paid particular attention to her answer. She knew he deserved an answer to his question, but she could only shrug in response. She had no idea what James was thinking.

"I haven't spoken to James since he and Veronica turned up at the crime scene, I swear."

Danny and Hawkes nodded, but Mac seemed less convinced. Standing up, he walked closer to her, "If you know something, Stella-"

"What I know, is that he lost his entire world yesterday and he probably doesn't know what to say or do to make it better. When people are feeling down, or bereaved, they make mistakes which can have far-reaching consequences for other people, Mac," she reminded him harshly. "You of all people should know that!"

And suddenly, they were closer than could be considered appropriate, drawn to one another firstly, by their mutual frustration at the case, but particularly one another. Forgetting the presence of Danny and Hawkes, she felt her breath catch in her throat as Mac clenched his hands at his side before countering with "While you take a trip down memory lane, I'll try and save our jobs, shall I?"

She could neither speak, nor nod her head, so instead waited for him to back down. They had both seemingly frozen when they realised what had just happened, and even through the anger, she seen shock flashing through his pale blue eyes. Apologising silently for his actions, they began to soften and her emerald eyes replaced anger with orbs of nothing. She deserved to be yelled at, shouted at, and she would willingly take such treatment from Mac if it meant he wasn't keeping it bottled up, whatever it was he was feeling. It didn't make it easier, being at the receiving end of his temper, but she cared too much about him to let him retreat back into his shell.

Even with this fact reasoned in her mind, the words she wanted to say caught in her throat in a lump, and Mac seemed to feel the same way, as he remained silent. Tension filling in the room, Stella had completely discounted the presence of Sheldon and Danny, concentrating solely on the proximity of her own body to her partner's. His usually comforting touch now made her nervous, and as their eyes continued to watch one another's, a voice finally catalysed their separation.

"Bonasera? Taylor?"


	7. Chapter 7

So rough week aside, I'm posting from Cambridge tonight and although I've got an early morning and a 6 hour journey home tomorrow; I really wanted to keep up the schedule. I am going to work on Chapter 8 tomorrow, so as always, I'd love it if you'd leave a review and of course, if you'd like to follow it... that'd be pretty cool too. Remember you don't have to be a member to leave a review - thanks, and I hope you enjoy.

Also - the action starts properly next chapter, so I mean, I'd stay tuned if I were you.

 **Chapter Seven**

"Bonasera? Taylor?"

Looking to the source of the voice, Stella and Mac separately immediately avoiding one another's embarrassed expressions. The pair temporarily forgot their own anger as they found themselves at the receiving end of Sinclair's. Stepping into the break room from the hall way, she noticed darkness encircling tired eyes, almost as tired as her own – but not quite, and was she not keen for her telling off to be brought to a stand-still – she might have felt sorry for the Chief of Detectives. Instead, she and Mac waited for the catharsis of Sinclair's anger to begin.

"Surely you two know what's at stake here?" he snapped, looking over the pair in disapproval. "I really don't need one of your fights right now."

Stella didn't want to fight with him. More than ever, she needed the support that she knew he could give – but didn't give often, which made it all the more special when he did let his heart out of his chest a little. Sometimes she had to ask for it, other times it came out of the blue. Sometimes it was more appreciated than others; but it was always appreciated. This meant that the rough patch they were going through right now was all the more difficult to digest, because if there was one time she could use his support it would be now. Through the difficulties of the past year, she hadn't relied too heavily on his support; what with the Clay Dobson case and his new relationship weighing on his mind. But right now, she didn't need another one of their infamous fights; she needed a friend.

"Right," she managed, observing Mac's silence as an attempt to supress his growing frustration. "Sorry, Chief Sinclair."

Nodding, he turned his attention to Sheldon and Danny, whom Stella had forgotten about in the heat of their fight, "Hawkes, you're with Mac – I need you two back on the evidence-"

And as far away from Stella as possible, he didn't dare add – although, she knew that they were all thinking the same thing, that their emotions were too raw to work together right now.

With one last sharp glare at his partner, she watched as he stormed out of the room. She shook her head at him; what the hell had prompted this? This wasn't Mac; it wasn't _her_ Mac. Feeling a sense of sadness overwhelm her, she focused on nothing in particular. She couldn't help but let the feeling that her friendship with Mac was no longer what it used to be consume her mind. She could handle what had happened with Frankie, the HIV scare, losing the closest thing she had to a sister; because she had him by her side. Without him; she didn't know. She didn't know how much longer she could carry on, pretending to be strong.

Hawkes hot on Mac's heels, she heard the occasional "Hey, Mac. Wait up!" before Sinclair's voice broke her out of her reverie once more.

"Bonasera, you with us?"

"Yeah," she replied, somewhat disorientated. "Okay. Danny, would you mind bringing the Chief and I up to speed with the investigation, please? We've got an hour before we meet with James and Veronica."

-/-

Arriving at the meeting room, James and Veronica had brought with them the typical air of confidence they exuded, but not without a sense of uncertainty and unease. Little more than 2 hours ago, he had given a press conference which had put her career on the line, and under more stress than she knew how to cope with. Worse yet, he had put Mac's career on the line yet again, and put more strain on the relationship that meant most to her than she thought was healthy.

And yet, she felt more sympathy for him than she had wanted to. How could she criticise him? He had lost the most important thing in his entire life, and standing beside his wife now, the comfort she had expected the pair to be providing one another with was missing, replaced with a thick air of tension.

His wife, her friend, had her hair pulled into a tight updo, and where she usually wore tailored pant suits, she had replaced them with a pair of light jeans and a dark sweater. Like the comfort she had expected James to be providing her with, she saw no sadness on Veronica's face. Instead, she seen determination, and something else she couldn't yet place. It was dark, and foreign to her usually bright features.

She indicated for the pair to sit down, and closing the door she joined them at the table.

"Stella, one of your detectives asked for Jennifer's laptop," Veronica said, breaking the silence. Handing her the laptop, she settled back into the chair.

"And you have no objection to one of my techs looking around?"

Seeing her hesitation, Stella raised an eyebrow, "They're highly skilled, they won't compromise any of her files, I'll make sure they're very careful."

Now it was James' turn to speak, and when he did, he spoke quietly, almost pleadingly, "Can you do it? I'd rather you looked around her files than some lab tech."

She ignored his dismissal of many colleagues she held in high esteem as "some lab tech" and looked to Sinclair, "File Recovery and technology… it really isn't my area of expertise-"

"But you can do it?" Sinclair said, less of a question and more of an order. Releasing a sigh, she shrugged.

"It won't be as thorough as Adam or even Danny might do it, but yes. I know how to do it."

Now, for the subject on everyone's mind; the press conference. Trying to be controlled, not irrational, she thought over how she would address the issue at hand. Would she be confrontational; did she have a right to be? He had lost a child, his only child, and she was in no position to make a judgement on how he had chosen to deal with such an unthinkable tragedy. She had never lost anyone whom she considered herself particularly close to, and thus, could never say how she might react when put in such a situation as her friend. She had no child to experience that unconditional love for, and as an orphan, she had never known unconditional love. The closest thing she had ever known to such affection was the friendship she and Mac shared – but now was not the time for that.

In the end, it was Sinclair who beat her to it.

"Senator Highsmith," his voice came uneasily. "I need to ask… the press conference."

Catching his wife's eyes in an attempt to avoid Stella's, something clicked in his mind before he answered the Chief of Detectives. At first, his voice cracked with nerves (unlike her usually confident friend) before he finally regained his strength.

"I didn't feel the investigation was moving at a very… uh, substantial pace. I also feel that Detective Taylor, your lead investigator, is… somewhat distracted – hardly in the right place to be leading a murder investigation."

"With all due respect, Senator," Sinclair replied with more strength than she knew he possessed. "I have my best detectives on the case, one of whom is your friend, who, along with Detective Taylor, have barely been home to recuperate since the murder of your daughter."

Casting a meaningful glance to Stella, she nodded at the Chief's attempt at subtle appreciation of her efforts.

"Besides, Mac isn't distracted," Stella continued defensively. "He's the most professional person that I know, and he's starting to get to a really good place now."

James nodded, "I have a lot of respect for Detective Taylor, but I would have to agree. Stella sounds like she's doing such a good job, she might as well be leading the investigation."

"So, why isn't she?" Veronica snapped, highlighting yet another failure in the NYPD's handling of his daughter's case. Stella tried to focus on the tablet in front of her. She couldn't be having this conversation right now. Not only did Mac need this case to prove his abilities as a leader to Sinclair and Gerard, but Stella really wasn't in the right place to lead an investigation with stakes so large. She lacked the focus, the energy, but mostly, the objectivity to get this case solved. She couldn't lead this case. She couldn't do it.

"Detective Taylor is doing a great job so far, and I can assure you, he won't stop until Jennifer's killer is brought to justice," Stella argued, sincerely. "And on that note, I have a few updates on the case. We've been able to eliminate Jennifer's boyfriend as a suspect. We found traces of violin rosin at the crime scene, and until speaking with Paul Moretti, we hadn't realised that he was a pianist, _not_ a violinist."

James' shoulders slumped a little at the news that a suspect had been eliminated. Veronica, however, nodded – Jennifer had said Paul had her mother's approval. The news of Paul Moretti's innocence brought some colour back into her seemingly dull face. Explaining to the couple further eliminations and leads, she sensed Sinclair had wished to speak, and so, once she had finished; she allowed him to do so.

"I have a few questions for you about your daughter," Sinclair began, and Stella noted the formality Chief Sinclair's tone had adopted, in comparison to her kindness. What both of the Detectives' voices seemed to have in common was strain; and an abundance of it at that.

By the end of the meeting, Stella had jotted down notes and her thoughts on the case onto her memo book, and nodding her head approvingly, she felt a small feeling of accomplishment grow in her chest. She had Jennifer's laptop, her parents' perspectives, and although she had vowed to work round the clock – she had decided she would do so at home, and arrive early tomorrow morning with a fresh set of eyes. There was no denying that a sense of sadness remained within her; but the knowledge she had accumulated in the past hour had been so refreshing, she was determined to clear the air with Mac. She might even offer to buy him a drink. Besides, it was the least she could do.

Bidding James and Veronica goodbye, nothing more than a short handshake and a sad smile exchanged, she set off to do just that. A part of her knew that she wasn't being the best friend possible, and argued that she ought to have called him during the past two days. The more dominant side argued that the best thing she could do for him was solve her daughter's murder.

Arriving at his office, she sensed she had a difficult task at hand.

Sat at his desk, he ran his hands through his hair; too caught up in his own stress to notice his partner stood at the door. She bit her lip nervously. He would be in no mood to look at her, much less make up with her. Suddenly grinning, she tried the only thing she knew would work.

"Τι σε κόβει η κόλαση?" When blue eyes caught green, a wave of relief washed over her when she saw an absence of the anger they had both felt earlier. Instead, he smiled a little before releasing a small sigh.

"Do I have to remind you that my Greek language abilities are fairly limited?"

"What the hell's bugging you, Mac?"

He shook his head, barely taking a moment to consider his answer, "Nothing, nothing at all. How did the meeting go?"

Apart from James and Veronica forcing Chief Sinclair to swap the two leads? "Fine. I didn't get a chance to speak to James, though. I really hope he's doing okay."

Both of them knew that it was futile for her to hope such a thing, but the pair also knew that hope was the only thing on their side at the moment. Well, she supposed they had each other – although, after that fight earlier, she wasn't sure she would have stood in his office with such comfort after such words were exchanged. Still, he was here. Distant, not fully there as she needed him to be – but it was a start, and it was better than not being there at all.

"Anyway, it's nearly 6.30," he informed her. "Your shift is over, so go home and freshen up. I'll need you on the night shift – but I'll be helping you, so you won't be alone."

No, she just wished she didn't feel that way.

"Sure. Hey, Mac? You don't fancy going for a drink later, do you?"

Looking down at his desk, she felt tension diffuse so thick in the air, she thought she might choke. She had managed to ruin what little sense of normality she had managed to resume in the past few minutes, and had never felt so stupid.

"Stella… I'm not sure that's such a good idea," he spoke quietly, but she knew he meant every word he said.

"Mac, I'm trying to put this right!" she exclaimed, before trying to compose herself. "Tell me how I can do that, and I will. Anything."

"We're supposed to be working round the clock, and I intend to do just that," he replied calmly. "I don't exactly have the luxury of job security right now. We aren't all lucky enough to be up for a promotion."

She paused. He couldn't know about the conversation she and Sinclair had had with James and Veronica earlier, could he? "What? I'm quite content where I am."

He scoffed, before returning his eyes to his page, "Either go home or get back to work. I'm not talking about this now."

Realising she hadn't closed the door, a small group of lab techs standing in a huddle at the elevator caught her eye.

With less than a glance back at Mac, she stormed from the office, and directly at the scientists, who seemed more interested than she and Mac's latest fight than the cases they had to solve. Anger rolling over her in waves, she let her frustration flow freely at her colleagues, "You have a murder case to be working on, Thompson! Banks, aren't you working DNA on that rape case in Central Park? You, go help him!"

And had she not been sure that Mac was still watching her, she might have been tempted to fall apart right there and then. But she let her legs carry her towards the locker room, where a hard shove of the door gave her entry into a room where she was finally alone.

She had to sit down – she was exhausted. She was pleased to say that she had never had two fights with Mac in one day, but as with all other experiences, there is always a first. Eyes set on the bench, she finally reached it and rested her head in her hands; attempting desperately to forget the events of the day. Fighting against the anger that had built inside of her, she felt tears roll down her cheeks in bitter streams, leaving marks of the despair that had grown, too long, internalised. She had sworn to herself she wouldn't, couldn't, cry. Once this case was over, she needed a break from work. She needed to stay at home for a few days, reconnect with hobbies and passions she had once loved, but had left to the side as a result of work commitments or general disinterest. Cooking, once an art form, now became a chore and was often forgotten. Reading the odd book when time allowed, had also been cast aside, despite a generous collection in her sitting room. What the hell was happening to her?

"Stella?" Her head raised sharply, and met bright blue eyes, looking over her in scrutiny. Sid Hammerback stood, concern written in his usually cheerful expression. And it wasn't that she didn't appreciate Sid's efforts, more that she wasn't able to accept the help he wanted to offer. She simply didn't deserve it. Sitting beside her on the bench, she looked straight into green eyes, somewhat darker than they usually were, and certainly without their sparkle. Wiping her eyes, she smiled at Sid. "What can I do for you, Sid?" she asked, silently pleading for her friend to drop the subject. However, if Sid caught the hint, he didn't comply. "I was going to see Mac, but with you two going at it again; I felt safer in the hall," he answered with a smile, before his tone became sober. "It's not like you to pick two fights in one day." She sighed, "I know, and usually I have the strength to hold my tongue, but… how did you know about the fight earlier?" Sending her a small grin, he replied, "Stella, MEs gossip too." Temporarily forgetting the presence of the older man, she too wondered how she managed to get wrapped up in so many arguments with her best friend, the only man she trusted and… loved? Shaking that thought off, she knew it had been her fault. She hadn't realised it in the heat of the argument, but upon reflection she knew that she was the only one to blame. "What's going on with you? " he finally asked, his hand resting on her shoulder. Bringing her gently out of her thoughts, her eyes met his once more." "I just lost someone I care about, Sid. Isn't this just grief?" "Why don't you head home? Get some rest. I work with the dead, Stella, and so, I know when my colleagues aren't really living." With the offer of a shoulder to lean on, he left with the intention of speaking to Mac before heading home – which he insisted she ought to do herself. After promising she would, she took a few moments to appreciate the emptiness of the locker room. When she went back through that door, she would be bombarded by the shrill cry of cell phones and elevators opening, machines taking effect on samples and lab techs moving in shoals, listening intently to one another's results. And in this moment, she would choose the quiet recluse of the locker room every time. But until this murder was solved, she would have to face the noise head on. Even if she felt like it was suffocating her, practically killing her. The vibration of her phone in her pocket got her onto her feet, through fear that Mac was calling her to see if she had gone home, or Sinclair to arrange a meeting. Pulling it from her pocket, confused eyes met, instead, a text message – similar to those she used to send only a year ago. _Are you free tonight?_


	8. Chapter 8

Hey, thanks for coming back. Thanks to Lily, for reminding me that while I might be British -Mac and Stella certainly aren't. Please review if you enjoyed it, and you are welcome to follow/favourite to stay up to date. If you want to that is ;) Enjoy.

 **Chapter Eight**

He had always taken his wife, Claire's opinion seriously. Decisions as tedious as what tie he should wear to work on that day, or on matters closer to his heart, such as whether or not they should try for children now or wait another year until they had settled better into New York – she was given his equal and undivided attention. Like himself, she looked over most situations with an air of objectivity, but perhaps where they differed was her tendency to insist he considered how he felt in his heart about the decision he was going to make. Whether that was a clothing decision or a life decision – you can't ignore your heart.

Back in 1995, a transfer from the Narcotics Unit became the subject of a decision he couldn't make alone. A _Stella_ Bonasera, he would come to know as his best friend. She was tough, incredibly hardworking and graduated at the top of her class at university _and_ the police academy – he had noted from the file he had been given, impressed. The first time he met her, however, a side of the woman (now his partner) came to light that he hadn't known.

She was a complete pain in the ass.

She was smug. She was sarcastic. She was aggressive in the way she carried out her work.

And he couldn't stand her.

When he'd finally finished ranting to Claire over dinner, she smiled and leaned back in her seat, "Invite her over for dinner." To which she had earned an eye roll nearly as famous as his wife's smile. But he had done it, and the following evening, his new partner had arrived at his door offering out a bottle of wine nervously to the woman standing at his side.

But it was that night, he saw a side of his partner he hadn't managed to catch a glimpse of at work. She was beautiful. Not the same type of beautiful as Claire, he had to add; but she was beautiful. The way her golden curls swayed with the turn of her head, or the way her lips parted when she threw her head back in laughter. She held her wine glass in slim fingers, swirling it when a silence fell over the room or when she was listening intently to conversation. She was far from simple to understand, but elegant and kind, and a part of him had struggled to believe this was the same woman who had wielded a glock day-in, day-out. He struggled to believe that Claire had been able to spot, quicker than he, all the wonderful things his partner had to offer him.

"She's insecure, alright," she had nodded. "But fiercely loyal, and well… fierce."

He had laughed it off then, but over the 10 years of their partnership, he had become aware just how fierce Stella Bonasera could be. Sometimes he loved it, but that was seldom when he was on the receiving end of it. They had engaged in enough arguments over the years for him to know when another was brewing.

But, if he was totally honest with himself, he couldn't have seen two fights occurring in one day. That, was unusual.

A part of him expected this after finding out Jennifer had been murdered. She loved the young woman like she was a sister, and in return, she was given the girl's unconditional admiration, and pride, as well as her enthusiasm and passion for justice. He knew she would miss her, would be driven to solve her murder.

Another part of him had feared she might go to that same place he had went after Claire died. That place where it seemed to him as though the only way to get through your pain was to ignore it until it finally suffocated you, and pulled you further into that place you had been avoiding in the first place. It had been a tough year, and it was anyone's guess how she had lasted this long. But Stella was stronger than that. If anyone could keep her head above surface, Stella could.

So then why the arguments? Why was she shutting him out? Why was he shutting her out?

Groaning, he slid himself away from the desk and forced himself over to the whiteboard where multiple questions taunted him, unanswered. Why would anyone want to kill Jennifer Highsmith; human rights advocate, political activist, student, friend? Who would want to kill Jennifer Highsmith? Who would have the means to kill Jennifer Highsmith? Hopefully Stella's investigation of the young girl's laptop would bring something to light in the investigation, otherwise his bosses would be on a manhunt for his badge. But what was he expecting to find on her laptop? Emails? Coursework? It was unlikely it would wield any results, but he knew it was worth a shot.

Checking his watch, he saw that he had once more managed to work through the night. 8am, he should have been for a jog already – more importantly, he was long overdue a cup of coffee. His eyes were beginning to weigh heavily, and he admitted reluctantly to himself that it was time for some much-needed sleep. With this case, however, he knew that it would be more convenient for the time being to rely more heavily on caffeine than on the hope of getting home for some rest. The closest thing he could afford were power-naps on the sofa in his office, which even then, was becoming difficult to slot in to his schedule.

He could almost hear Stella nag, "Sleep comes first, Mac."

And he knew that she was right, but right now, he didn't have the luxury of time on his hands – or as he threw in her face yesterday, the luxury of the prospect of job promotions.

A knock on his door brought his attention away from his thoughts, and into the strained face of Don Flack. Handing the older man a file, he paused a moment before explaining, "The students Stella and I took for further questioning yesterday. Some of those students, Mac… they're right pieces of work."

"I'll have a look," he sighed. "Thanks, Don."

"Yeah, don't sweat it. I'm gonna go see Stel, see if I can't get her to eat something before the day's in full swing."

Mac sighed once more. He had tried that already, and she had thrown it away. He almost felt like telling him not to waste his time on trying to help her before he gave himself a mental slap. Stella didn't deserve that one and he knew it. Instead, he nodded with the request that he let him know how he got on. After all, he would have to fulfil his duties as a friend to Stella if this continued. He couldn't let her reach that place.

-/-

Reaching behind his glasses in the hope of refreshing himself for the day ahead, Danny rubbed his eyes and followed many anonymous figures on the surveillance tapes with frustration. Mac could empathise with the younger man, as only yesterday, he had sat in that exact chair with the same tired eyes and growing frustration. Leaning back in the chair, releasing a tired sigh, he caught sight of Mac watching him at the door with a start.

"Jesus, Mac! What's up?"

"Have you been home yet?"

"Have you or Stella?" he retorted. Catching Mac's now embarrassed expression, he added, "That's what I thought."

"Stella and I are your bosses, Danny. We're supposed to pull all-nighters," he explained. "You, however, are not and as such, I am asking you to go get freshened up, _at least._ "

Standing up, Mac could see the younger man had been relieved of the order from his boss, but knew better than to ask for it.

"I owe you one, Mac," Danny smiled as he left the room. Knowing he was being hypocritical, he decided he too would have to go home for a change of clothes at some point. However, he sat himself down on the recently vacated chair to glance over the footage for the second time, starting at 1 am. He didn't know what he had expected to find, but as he felt somewhat more refreshed than he had yesterday, he thought a fresh pair of eyes might finally reap results. Usually he would have asked Stella to be his fresh pair of eyes over a piece of evidence, but alas – he would have to make do with his own. Besides, given the state of their partnership at the moment and the fact she was now having to analyse Jennifer's computer on top of everything else, he didn't feel like he wanted to trouble her with this. Although, she would probably kill him if she heard him say that aloud.

When 0130 hours displayed on the computer, a blonde woman on a small frame entered the building and spoke to the security guard before being granted access. Slightly tipsy, but nevertheless, carrying an air of arrogance, Mac felt slight familiarity towards the young woman. Where had he seen her before?

Then it hit him.

Opening one of the files Don had given him and reading Stella's notes only cemented what he was thinking. Finally, a motive.

Pulling out his phone, he dialled a number that he could faintly remember from memory. On the second ring, the woman picked up.

"Angell, it's Mac."

"What's up?"

Glancing down onto the screen, he felt a small sense of victory wash over him, "I'm going to follow a lead, can I pick you up on the way?"

"On the Highsmith case? I'll see you in ten minutes."

-/-

Knocking on the door of the 3-storey townhouse, Angell announced their presence and stood back to join Mac. Opening the door only moments later, the two detectives were met by the same blonde, with kind green eyes as Stella had written off in her notes as "Jealous, spoiled and extremely petty". Not exactly her most professional move, Jessica had noted with a smirk as she had flipped through the young girl's file on the journey over. Mac hadn't laughed when he seen his partner's assessment of the young woman, whose opinion she had probably based solely on hearsay from Jennifer. It was so unlike Stella.

"Andrea Alex?" he asked, taking a step closer. When she nodded, he added, "Can we come in, please?"

Opening the door, she allowed the detectives full entry into her home. Far from modest, he took a moment to admire her home. Victorian in design and bearing resemblance to his childhood home in Chicago, he might have expressed his admiration for it had he not been in the home of a potential suspect of a homicide investigation.

The detectives followed her through the hallway into a library, where each wall was lovingly adorned with books ranging from the history of fingerprinting, to various crime fiction novels. Andrea was more than passionate about forensics; it was her life.

When Mac was studying for his degree, he took advantage of the 50-book limit of the college library. On the desk of his less than spacious dorm, at least 50 books were piled on various spots, constantly rotating. Like Mac once had, Andrea had stacks of notebooks and papers on the floor and a mug of freshly made black coffee to hand.

Then he realised that Stella had misread Andrea's jealousy for something completely different. Yes, Andrea was certainly more privileged than Jennifer, but Jennifer was by no means denied anything in her life. It seemed that Stella simply couldn't tolerate rich children, particularly teenagers, and her bias of Jennifer automatically raised her suspicions of the girl. Andrea worked extremely hard in a subject she was extremely passionate about, and no matter how hard she tried, Jennifer always came out on top. He understood that now. He understood how her parents would have constantly been at her throat to do better than before. And that was the reality of being "spoiled", as Stella had so branded her.

But there was still the unanswered question of what she was doing at her apartment so early in the morning. He agreed with his partner in that she probably hadn't killed Jennifer, but something in his notes caused an internal conflict that he couldn't quite shake;

 _"_ _Am I sorry she's dead? Not particularly… she was a stuck-up bitch."_

"Sorry for interrupting you, Miss Alex," Jessica apologised breaking him from his thoughts. "I know that Detectives Bonasera and Flack have both already spoken to you regarding the case. But we need to ask you a few further questions."

She nodded, "Anything."

"When Detective Bonasera questioned you yesterday, you told her that the last time you seen Jennifer Highsmith was Friday during your lectures. Correct?"

"Yes, a pathologist from Jersey came to do an introductory lecture on the role of pathology in criminal convictions," she spoke enthusiastically. "Jennifer was sat in the front row, and spoke to her afterwards."

Mac handed her a file, "So this isn't you?"

Opening the file, she sighed, "Yeah, okay. I lied; it's not exactly a secret that we don't get on. I didn't care much for her, but I didn't and couldn't kill her. You've got to believe me."

With a glance at Angell, he sighed, "Why were you there? Tell us the truth and we can eliminate you as a suspect."

She sat on the chair closest to the door, "That Friday, we got feedback from group projects back from the Professor. She had this great idea that pairing Jennifer and I together might make us appreciate the finer qualities in one another. It was on a case where the forensics played an important role, we split the project and handed it in at the start of last week."

"Okay," Angell replied. "So that still doesn't explain why you were in her apartment building on Sunday morning."

"We failed the group project on Friday on account of her half of the project. I went out with some friends on Saturday, for drinks," she said shakily. "I mean, we were going to have to make those points up elsewhere, otherwise we were risking our places next year. So I was pretty wasted, and decided to confront her about it. I mean, why should I fail my degree because she couldn't pull her weight?"

While Angell nodded, Mac noted how contrasting this view of Jennifer was to that of the adults in her life. James and Veronica did nothing but sing her praises. Stella saw parts of herself in Jennifer; hard-working, stubborn, determined. But Andrea saw the opposite, and not knowing the girl well enough, he didn't know who to believe.

"So, what went down?" he urged.

"Well, I went over there and asked her what the hell happened. But she didn't care; she said she had more important things to deal with before she worried about some stupid group project."

She shifted in her chair, before glancing down at her hands, "I told her she better come up with some way to make up the credits, and she said we could worry about it after exams. I- I grabbed her and she shoved me, and we fought. But I didn't kill her, I really couldn't have."

"Is that why you told Detective Bonasera you weren't sorry she had died?" he asked, more gently than she had probably deserved in that moment. But he truly believed she regretted her spiteful attitude towards her classmate. If saying things in the heat of the moment was a crime, he would surely be guilty. After all, he said a lot of things to Stella in the heat of an argument only yesterday that he more than regretted.

"Yeah. I left her apartment around 5 to 2, I think, and went home. My parents could confirm that – I mean they're at work, but I'm sure they'd be happy to take your call."

"I'll take their numbers, if you don't mind," Jessica sighed. "Can we test you for GSR before we go, please?"

And with her parents' cell phone numbers and a negative GSR result, Mac and Jessica returned to the car, back at square one. Sitting in the passenger seat, Jessica tuned into her police radio, while Mac started the engine. He was about to pull away when a familiar voice over the radio caught his attention.

 _"_ _Please… I need a bus on Broadway and West 95_ _th_ _. Officer down. I repeat, Officer down!"_


	9. Chapter 9

Hey guys. Sorry it's been a while, life's just been a little full on of late – and while I haven't been feeling great at all, I've finally gotten around to writing this chapter. I genuinely hope you enjoy it because it's taken me a lot to finish this. Speaking of which, thanks to Lily for convincing me to finish this; it means a lot that people want me to see this one through.

 **Chapter Nine**

After hours of tossing and turning which never seemed to end, it was around 8.30 when her body gave up on the idea of sleep and forced her into an upright position. After being thrown from one nightmare into the other, she welcomed the minimalistic décor of her office in the lab, telephones ringing and heels clicking against the floor. Pressing the ball of her palm into her eyes, she was met with the sights she was trying unsuccessfully to erase from her mind.

Blood dripping from the wound in her wrist, the wound which threw her into 6 weeks of the most turmoil she had ever known. A PCR Test which would determine whether or not she could dream again, and unlike in reality where she had gotten the result she needed – she found her whole world grind to a halt in that very moment. Then, blood in her bath tub, the smell of a freshly fired gun in her apartment, days after she shot him. The way her hands shook any time she had to discharge her weapon became more vivid than the previous feelings. She could deal with fear, it was what she thrived on. But when that fear was stopping her from doing her job… that was a different story.

Truthfully, that felt completely unlike her. She felt weak.

And feeling weak was not something she was accustomed to. She was a police officer, first, but just as importantly, she was the Assistant Supervisor of the New York Crime Lab and a Detective. Those were, at least to her, jobs filled with honour and responsibility – there was no room for fear or weakness, not like this anyway.

Padding over to the window, she looked out onto the street and watched the city breathing below her. Yellow cabs, hot-dog vendors and commuters, pushing through the veins of the only city she had ever gotten to know. She often wondered if her job allowed her the opportunity to acknowledge the existence of her fellow New Yorkers. How many civilians could she honestly say she knew? She had no family (now that Mindy had fled), no friends with the exception of James (outside work) – she didn't even know her neighbours. She slept restlessly on her office couch, eating the bare-minimum and living merely for the job. She hated to say this, but what on earth was she doing with her life?

"Hey, Stella?"

Not before releasing a quick sigh, she spun around to face the source of the disruption, only to find her features softening. Don stood, jacket draped over his arm, a slight smirk gracing his Celtic features.

"What's up, Don?" she asked flatly. He took a few further steps into her office, smile barely faltering.

"I'd have thought you'd be more enthusiastic, Stel," he mocked hurt. "I was going to treat you to breakfast."

Sighing once more, she looked down at the ground. In the name of being comfortable while working the longest shift of her career, she had haphazardly thrown one of Mac's old Marine hoodies (which she had borrowed from him a long time ago) over yesterday's blouse tucked into a pair of jeans. Paired with a pair of low heels, she was dressed far from professionally. But with everything else going on, she could hardly be expected to maintain a particularly pleasant appearance.

She had so much work to do. There was Jennifer's laptop, and paperwork stacked piles high on her desk. She had to meet with Sinclair (at a time convenient to her) and meet with Mac to discuss their findings. There wasn't time for breakfast. But there was another part of her which couldn't be bothered with working all day, only to find nothing – to let Jennifer down once more. What harm could slipping out for an hour do?

Finally forcing a smile through the fatigue growing once more in her body, she nodded, "I'll have to tell Mac that we're heading out," she thought aloud, only to see a hand raised, as though to stop her. Throwing her jacket on over the hoodie, she looked curiously as the younger detective.

"I've already spoken to him this morning, and he's gotten almost as much sleep as you have."

-/-

Taking a sip from her dark, expensive coffee, she leaned back in her chair with her mug warm between her hands. For it being so early on a Wednesday morning, she was surprised upon an analysis that the café was near empty. With much less exotic drinks than the students scattered around the café, she and Don opted for an Americano and an overpriced sandwich (which they were told wouldn't take long). She knew Don asked her out for more reasons than just a social outing, but she wasn't bothered enough to start the conversation.

She had to admit that the past few days were the worst she had experienced in a long time. From the death of Jennifer to the constant tension with Mac, she had gone through so many emotions which were both extremely draining and incredibly confusing. She was shocked, angry, fed up but totally exhausted. Moments had passed when thoughts had left her terrified at their intensity and how easily she had let her mind believe them. No questions asked. No attempt to challenge them for what they were. She accepted them as fact.

And of course, there was the progress, or lack thereof, on Jennifer's case.

Jennifer's laptop had wielded little results, although she couldn't say she managed to stick at the task too long before she lay down with the intention of taking a quick nap. She had only managed to find some essays and a half-finished PowerPoint in her documents. There was nothing particularly unusual on her laptop, and so she decided that if she didn't find anything significant on her search history – she would return the laptop to Veronica at the earliest opportunity. Danny had been working through the security footage from her apartment building and her phone records. She could only hope he'd had more luck than she'd had.

"Sorry, Stel. But I've gotta ask," he began, having not yet touched his coffee. "What's made you switch from a $500 Ralph Lauren blazer to one of Mac's 20-year old marine sweaters?"

Allowing the blush to fade from her cheeks, she shifted in her seat a little (whether this was at her friend's close observation, or the fact she knew that the sweater belonged to Mac; she wasn't entirely sure).

"One night, when I was staying at the hotel after… Frankie, Mac brought me a care package," she replied, smiling briefly at the memory, "Some ice cream, a bottle of beer, some things for the bath – the sweater. He thought it might comfort me, I guess I was never really over how afraid I felt to give it back."

If Don was shocked at what she had said, he didn't show it. Instead, he smiled at her and finally took a sip of his coffee.

"It sounds like Mac was a big help to you after Frankie," he said, in a way that reminded her rather eerily of the department psychologist. "What's changed?"

"What do you mean? Mac and I are fine."

"Well, whatever's going on with you… Does Mac know?"

Looking into her mug, Don understood her answer, "You know, just because he has Peyton doesn't mean that he doesn't want to help you. We're all here for you; me, James – hell, Mac would do _anything_ for you. You do know that right?"

She felt the scoff escape her before she knew what she was doing, but forced a gulp of coffee back anyway. Leaning her head against the back of the chair, she listened to the sound of her breathing and that of mugs clattering on tables, soft chattering of the staff and Don shifting in his chair. Part of her hadn't imagined that this might have been an awkward conversation for Don, too. They weren't particularly close, despite his concern for her after Frankie, and so this conversation perhaps sat just as well with him as it was currently sitting with her.

"I don't think Mac's angry with you, Stel," he offered softly. Moving forward in his chair, he spoke sincerely, "I think he's frustrated because he wants to help you, but it feels like he's almost hitting a brick wall and that's-"

"Chicken Mayo?" a young woman announced, oblivious to the fact that she was interrupting Don's intervention. He signaled that the sandwich was for him and smiling at Stella, she placed the tomato and brie in front of her.

"Enjoy, guys," she smiled before walking off to resume her duties. Stella nodded, but making no effort to begin eating, she continued to look for the warmth offered by her mug. She was so exhausted, she could feel it in her limbs. Working in this field long enough, she knew she should inform Mac that she was becoming too tired to do her job. But she couldn't tell him that; he needed her on this case to take some of the pressure off of Mac. She couldn't let him down.

It was on West 86th when Don spoke again, and feeling anger build up inside her, she stopped dead in the street. After taking a moment to suppress the frustration towards the younger detective, she listened to what he was saying.

"What you said back there, about Mac having Peyton now… Does that bother you?"

Crossing her arms over her chest, she raised an eyebrow, "Of course not! He's my best friend, and if he's happy – well, I am too."

"You don't look happy," he finally observed. Suddenly she was glad to have worn the sweater again today, because finding herself discussing something she had been working hard to conceal for months was making her more nervous than she'd care to admit.

"Don, I'm fine," she snapped, looking him dead in the eye. Unable to maintain his glare much longer, his eyes scanned the street – likely looking for something to distract himself with, only for his glare to catch on something.

"What is it?" she asked, following his gaze to a young man, pressing a gun into another's stomach. Making a move towards them, she felt Don's hand grab her arm holding her in place.

"Stella, I don't have my gun-"

"You put the call in and I'll try and get him talking," she spoke quietly. Taking a deep breath, she removed her gun from her holster and edged carefully towards the two men. Muscles contracting against the fear of pointing her gun at another human being, she attempted to steady her breathing. She didn't need to freeze in a situation like this with little to no back up.

"NYPD! Put the gun down, now!"

With barely a glance at Stella, the young man took off down the street in an attempt to evade capture. Despite the heaviness in her limbs and Don's panicked yells after her, she wasted no time in chasing after him. Pushing civilians out of his path, he used the nearest mailbox as cover and before she could find her own, she heard a bullet wiz past her ear.

"Everybody, out of the way! Now!"

Discharging her own weapon, she hit the mailbox before kneeling behind a parked cab. Another bullet hit the newspaper machine beside the cab as Stella's hands gripped her gun, forcing a breath to escape from her throat.

In that moment, she stood up from her post and lowered her gun. Trying to gauge the boy's intentions, she came to the decision that she would rather be shot than shoot someone again. It fought against everything she had ever been taught at the police academy, but the possibility that she might kill someone again was pulling violently against her morals.

A loud bang filled the streets, followed by screaming from all over. Checking her own gun, she knew she hadn't fired, and with a quick glance over her own body, she concluded that she hadn't been shot. The kid had since vacated his post, so she staggered onto the pavement, hands shaking almost violently but safe in the knowledge that she wasn't going to be shot. Hearing a groan from the ground, she followed the sound and let out her own scream.

Pulling on her radio, she knelt down at his side, tears filling her eyes. Blood pouring from a wound in his arm, she pressed down on it.

"Don, can you hear me?" she asked, frenzied. Hand stroking his cheek, she finally pressed down hard on her radio and bit back her tears.

 _"_ _Please… I need a bus on Broadway and West 95_ _th_ _. Officer down. I repeat, Officer down!"_

 _-/-_

"Stella?" spoke the voice she had longed to hear in days. Catalysing her tears once more, she looked up in a mixture of relief and disbelief.

"Oh, Mac," she cried, forcing her way into his embrace. This was all her fault – if Don didn't make it, if he died; she was to blame. If he didn't make it, she was responsible for killing someone she cared a lot about. She had no idea how she was going to carry that burden for a second time.

She felt his resolve crumble in accordance with her tears. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he allowed his chin to rest on top of her curls. In that moment, she felt safe again. Sobs releasing from her body violently, she listened to his words of reassurance in her ear.

"It's all my fault, Mac! If I hadn't gone after that boy-"

"He might have shot someone else, Stella," he reminded her. "Don is going to be okay. He's tough."

Pulling back, she let him wipe her tears, before guiding her over to the nearest chair. Resting her head on his shoulder, she felt a sigh release from his chest. She couldn't help but wonder if they looked as perfect together as she felt in his embrace. She couldn't think about that right now, could she? Mac was in a relationship, and he was happy. That was what mattered.

Angell appeared, and sat next to Stella, offering a weak smile in response, "Don's doing good, he should be out of surgery soon. They got the bullet out of his shoulder for us; they thought we might need it for the investigation."

"We'll get it before we leave," Mac decided, while Stella offered nothing.

"Oh my God," Angell announced, watching Stella. "Your arm, Stella! It's bleeding."

Sighing, she was forced up from Mac's shoulder while he examined her wound. After a few minutes, he shouted a doctor over. By chance, the same doctor she had refused medical treatment from only an hour ago appeared in the waiting area, rolling his eyes at Stella's stubbornness.

"Detective Bonasera refused medical treatment when she was brought in with Detective Flack. She insisted that we made sure he was okay first," he said, a hint of amusement evident in his voice.

"Stella, that could get infected if you don't get that seen to, soon," Angell informed her, as though she had no knowledge of medical treatment.

"Listen to your colleagues, Detective Bonasera."

"Look," she snapped, "I'm fine!"

He raised his eyebrows, "Detective, I didn't study for 10 years and accumulate more debt than your home is worth to be told how to do my job by an NYPD Crime Scene Investigator."

And finally agreeing to be seen to, Stella sat on a hospital bed with Mac at her side. She hadn't spoken to him since she was taken to the hospital room, but she was quietly grateful for his company as a distraction from her guilt. A sling on one arm, and a cup of water in the other, the pair waited to be given clearance to head home.

"What did you mean earlier when you said "it was your fault"?"

She sighed; so much for a distraction.

"I made the decision to chase after the perp, knowing that Don was unarmed. It should have been me."

"I'm glad it wasn't," he admitted, looking into her eyes – watching her carefully.

"Mac-"

A nurse pushed her way into the room, interrupting their discussion, "Detective Bonasera? We have a prescription for you, and after you collect that, you're free to go. But please make sure you wear your sling for a few days and change the dressing as indicated on your release papers."

"Okay, thank you," Mac said, but was then interrupted once more.

"I'm sorry, Detective. There's some people here to speak to Detective Bonasera – Brigham Sinclair and Stan Gerard?"

"Show them in," he nodded.

She didn't even get to make her case to Internal Affairs, she was getting fired. Perhaps that was the least of what she deserved. She put her colleague at risk, and treated the oath she took as some silly, tokenistic speech that the brass make on a day-to-day basis. She fired her gun in a way she promised never to again. Perhaps she didn't deserve to be a police officer, anymore.

"Stella?"

Chief Sinclair and Gerard stood by the door, and catching a glance in Mac's direction, he asked her if she'd like him to stay.

"I think it's best if we speak to Stella alone first," Gerard replied, to which Sinclair nodded wearily. She felt her heart racing against her chest as the door clicked shut behind Mac.

"Okay, I don't think you need you need a lecture on what you did wrong, Bonasera," Sinclair sighed. "But we would like to suggest you take the rest of the day off to think this one over."

Taking a moment to understand their words, she finally asked, "Is that all?"

"Well, we'd like you to go for a psych evaluation in the morning," Stan begun, "Just to make sure you're okay to start back work again."

"Stan, why don't you tell Detective Bonasera about the Highsmith investigation."

She looked to Sinclair, who looked back to her, apologetically.

"Tell me what?" she demanded, glancing between the two men.

"If you pass the psych evaluation, you're going to be the new lead on the investigation," Stan replied smugly.

And it was at that point, she knew that there was no going back for she and Mac.

 **Thanks for reading. I really hope this was worth the wait :)**


	10. Chapter 10

Hey guys! Sorry this has taken so long, but life's been a bit of a bastard at the moment (frankly). This is just a filler chapter, which probably hasn't been written too well. That said, I hope you enjoy my efforts and look forward to the next one.

 **Chapter 10**

Hearing the door click shut behind him, he sat on the chair furthest from the door and took a minute to massage his temples. Feeling the knots begin to loosen under the touch of his fingertips, he released a deep sigh which was, in itself, a form of catharsis.

So much as he tried to be supportive in front of Stella, he was plagued with worry over what she had done. Fundamentally, it was selfish and reckless. But closer to the root, it seemed to Mac that she had absolutely no regard for the consequences her actions would have for herself. For such an intelligent and astute woman, he could only wonder what had come over her in that moment. Why had she abandoned over 10 years of experience with protocol and chased after that boy? Why had she stood up from cover and stood directly in his path?

One thing was clear; she hadn't expected Don to chase after her.

Undoing a particularly tight knot in his temple, he winced at the brief pulsation of pain which shot through his head. He could conclude that Stella was very often a cause of his headaches – but this, on top of the constant pressure from the brass over the past 3 days; this was a new sort of headache.

Usually, a quick smile shot from Stella was the biological equivalent of a rush of dopamine through his mind which could cure any headache. The memory of her smile was sometimes even enough to get him to smirk in response to one of Sinclair's snarky comments or to shrug off Gerard's apparent disdain towards him. She was particularly helpful during the Dobson investigation, and dare he say it, more so than Peyton could have ever been.

It wasn't that Peyton didn't try – no, he tried much harder than he ever could have expected her to. But Stella had more experience as a police officer than Mac did. He was a marine first, a cop and then a scientist. But 'To Serve and Protect' was an oath that Stella had lived and breathed since she left college. It was in the way she walked and wrote, in the way she pulled late nights at the lab and chased after perps even when she knew she was putting her life on the line. While he lived to ensure the safety and integrity of his country, for Stella, first and foremost was the safety and security of a city which she had lived in all of her life. If anyone could appreciate the insult of calling into question the integrity of a person who held such an honour as wearing a police badge; Stella would be the first person to appreciate where such an anger came from.

Hell, he didn't have to imagine what she was feeling right now.

She was far from perfect. Four complaints on her record, one might feel obligated to question why she was such a highly-decorated detective. But every single complaint was lodged as a result of the passion she wears in the way she does her work. That aside, a part of him had to acknowledge that what she did today did not come from a place of passion.

"Someone looks pretty deep in thought," Angell spoke softly from his left side. He was so absorbed in his thoughts that he hadn't noticed her sit down at his side.

"Oh, Angell," he replied, somewhat startled. "How's Don?"

She smiled, "He's absolutely fine. He's out of surgery and resting, so I thought I'd come and check up on Stella."

"Sinclair and Gerard are speaking to her now, but physically, she's okay. She should have full motion of her arm back in a week or so."

Nodding, she lifted a coffee cup up from the ground and handed it to him. Smiling genuinely, his mind was taken back to last year after Don had been caught up in that explosion. Stella had sat down beside him, wearing that smile and holding a cup of coffee, reminded him that she was there for him - and he was finally convinced that Don was going to be okay.

If only she was here to reassure him now.

Angell, who's foot was tapping against the ground in worry, had her eyes focused on a poster about bacteria; although he could tell that she wasn't really reading it. Taking a sip of his coffee, he watched her for a few more minutes before speaking up.

"You were pretty worried for Don back there, huh?"

Catching his glance sharply, she replied, "Well, of course I was. He's my partner!"

"It's not my business," he started, a weak smile barely suppressed behind a serious expression, "but when you do a job with as many close calls as we have… Well, there's no room for hidden feelings."

If only he could take his own advice, he thought. With whatever the hell he was feeling for Stella right now, he thought he should at least talk it through with her. Stella was certainly very reasonable, and he doubted she would make a big deal of it. Angell's eyes seemed to scrutinise him as though she had understood how hypocritical his statement had been, but thought better of calling him out on it. Instead, her eyes returned to the wall of posters, only this time, she seemed to scan that on blood transfusions. Taking one last glance at her, he watched the corner of her lips twitch up into the slightest trace of a smile.

"You're good friends?" he asked lightly, his own mouth beginning to turn upwards.

"Yeah, just like you and Stella are good friends."

Sighing, his smile fell as quickly as it had appeared and he began, "Jess…"

"You know, for the two best detectives in New York," she paused for a second, taking a minute to laugh, "You clearly can't see what's right in front of you."

He barely had time to formulate a response when the hospital room door slammed shut behind his partner, who was seething in anger. Between her shaking hands and the tears building behind her eyes, he was torn between holding her close to him and letting her cry, or staying as far away from her as possible to avoid being caught in the firing line of her notoriously quick temper. Both he and Angell stood up, waiting for some kind of outburst.

"Sinclair is a complete bastard!"

"Just Sinclair?" He nudged gently. Angell's eyes focused on the ground, and then Mac realised what was coming next. He should have known better.

"Who's side are you on here, Mac?" she snapped. Against his better judgement, he moved closer to her and moving his hand to her injured arm, he suppressed his urge to bite back.

"I'm on your side, Stella. I just need a bit more than "Sinclair is a complete bastard"."

She nodded, removing his hand from her arm "He wants to speak with you, I'm sure he'd be happy to fill you in."

Watching her storm off, he turned to Angell in shock. She too was stunned by Stella's outburst, and for once, was a little lost for words. Biting her lip, she took a minute to consider her next move.

"I'm going to go see if Stella wants a ride home," nodding, he watched Angell follow the same path Stella had only moments ago, tempted to chase after Stella himself.

He saw a lot of Stella in the younger detective. She was passionate, fiercely loyal and independent, intelligent and unbelievably kind. But there was something he was seeing in Stella (something in which he couldn't quite place), and he didn't like it one bit.


End file.
